ships in the night
by Faerie0975
Summary: because he's her lobster. because they were worth the wait. because he can't imagine his life without her. because with them, it's never off the table. / "you keep passing me by. we're just wasting time, trying to prove who's right. if it all goes crashing into the sea, then it's just you and me trying to find the light, like ships in the night." -mat kearney
1. you keep passing me by

**AUTHOR'S NOTE | **_So I have recently become re-obsessed with Friends, because it's clearly the best show on the planet. Okay. My name is Rachel, so obviously, Rachel is my favourite character, and Jennifer Aniston is one of my idols and she is amazing and this is a very long run-on sentence. Ross and Rachel forever, lobsters are cute, the whole works. I think Rachel is really interesting as a character and so I'm going to be a nerd and literally go through every episode of Friends and do it in her point of view because I can. And because I have no life. So, enjoy!_

* * *

**THE PILOT**

You don't love him.

Really, you know that Barry Farber is everything you should want. He's rich and your parents love him and everything he stands for seems to scream _safety._ He's good for you, and if you walk down that aisle, if you go through with this, you'll be all set up for the rest of your picture-perfect life.

Of course, you also know that you'll regret it.

Because maybe the safe, easy way isn't the _right_ way. Maybe you don't want to have everything lined up perfectly, the way that Barry likes it. Maybe you'd _like_ a little tiny sliver of indecisiveness, just so that every time something happens, you can know that it wasn't planned out at least a year in advance. Because Barry started talking about _children_ fourteen minutes after the rehearsal dinner, and that scares you.

"Rachel!" It's your father, pounding on the church's bathroom door like he means _business,_ the way he used to when he knew you'd snuck out to go to a party back in high school. You look up quickly, frown deepening. "What's taking you so long?" he snaps from the other side of the locked door.

Honestly, you've spent the last eight and a half minutes pacing back and forth with your white skirts brushing across the linoleum floor behind you. You doubt that your father is going to be happy with that, but you hesitantly try it anyway. "I - um - cold feet?" You curse yourself for asking it like a question, resting your elbows on the counter and your chin in your hands as you wait for his irritated sigh.

It comes quickly, proving just how well you know Leonard Green. You hear a rustle as he leans against the door. "Rachel, this is ridiculous. You've been perfectly fine with that rock on your finger for five months, and you choose _now_ to weigh your pros and cons? Everyone's waiting for you." When you don't answer - just stare at your engagement ring and fight back the overwhelming urge to throw up - he knocks forcefully again. "Rachel -"

"I'm fine, Daddy. I'll be out in a minute." You force yourself to sound calm, cool, collected. Your words come out right, but your fingers are trembling. Yes, you'll be out in a minute - just not walking down the aisle. Waiting for your father to answer or for his footsteps to retreat or _something,_ you cross to the window. "Just go. I'll see you in a second," you lie, and he sighs and walks away.

You open the window as far as it will go, but there's still not enough for you and your admittedly-large dress to slip out unscathed. As quietly as you can, you climb up over the windowsill and drop the few feet to the grass outside, ripping apart your skirts in the process. And then you run for it; you've always been good at running in heels, at hailing taxis, and perhaps your new skill can be pretending not to notice the strange look that the taxi driver keeps shooting you in the rearview mirror. You give him an address that you aren't even sure you've gotten right because it's been so long, _seven years,_ and you don't even know if she'll remember you.

But when you step out of the backseat of the taxi onto the New York City sidewalk (a homeless guy looks you and your dress up and down like he think she's hallucinating), you recognize the apartment building's walls from a picture you saw a few years ago at your mother's birthday party, when _her_ mom was proudly showing everyone how much weight her daughter had lost. The guy in the lobby directs you to a coffee shop next door when he finds out who you're looking for, and you burst through the doors there with a sense of _urgency_ in every step. You reach the counter quickly, but the woman standing behind it seems too confused by your ripped wedding dress to actually help you.

"Rachel?"

You spin around and recognize the woman standing in front of you instantly (you think she's maybe even lost a little _more_ weight since that picture was taken). "Oh, God, Monica, _hi,_" you blurt out, and hug her without even taking a breath before you hurry on. "I just went to your building and you weren't there and then this guy with a big hammer said that you might be here and you _are, _you_ are!"_

"Can I get you some coffee?" asks the girl behind the counter, who seems to have overcome her shock. You turn to face an old orange couch as Monica answers for you, trying to take in the four other people sitting around it. Your fingers are shaking and your heart is pounding out a steady (though a little too fast) rhythm.

Monica guides you around the couch, hands on your shoulders. "Hey, everybody - this is Rachel, another Lincoln High survivor. This - this is everybody. This is Chandler, Phoebe, and Joey, and do you remember my brother, Ross?"

"Sure!" You're pleased to see someone that you recognize, and start forward, hand outstretched with its still-trembling fingers. He's grown a little since your senior prom, which you think is the last time you saw him, and he's better-looking now, too - he's lost the mustache and his hair is shorter and he's not slouching the way he always used to. The only thing that seems to have stuck with him is the _awkwardness,_ and as he reaches out to shake your hand, he accidentally opens his umbrella in the direction of your knees and nearly falls over trying to shut it again.

After that, he seems to give up on trying to greet you and just sits down, avoiding your eyes. Your skirts brush up against the blonde girl - Phoebe? - as you move to sit down in the empty spot at the center of the couch.

"So," says Monica, who's taken up residence on the armrest, "do you want to tell us now, or are we waiting for four wet bridesmaids?"

"Oh, God," you say, brushing at your skirt. It _is_ wet. Is it raining outside? You can't really remember, but you shake that off. "Well, it started about a half hour before the wedding." Their eyes are all on you, eagerly waiting for the story, and you carefully divide up your time between looking at Monica and looking at Ross, who is holding his umbrella tightly in his lap as though he's scared it's going to burst open again. "I was in this room where we were keeping all the presents and I was looking at this gravy boat. This really gorgeous Lamauge gravy boat, and all of a sudden, I realized -"

You cut off abruptly when the coffee shop woman hands you a cup of coffee over your shoulder. "Sweet and low," you tell her, then keep going, taking only half a second to gasp for breath. "I realized... I realized that I was more turned on by this gravy boat than by Barry! And then I got really freaked out, and that's when it hit me - how much Barry looks like Mr Potato Head! You know, I mean, I always knew he looked familiar, but..." They all just stare at you, deadpan, like they think you're joking. But it's _true,_ he does kind of look like Mr Potato Head, and every time you let yourself think about it, you just picture it _more._

Passing your sweetener to Ross, you keep going. Nobody else is _talking, _after all. "I just had to get out of there, and I started wondering... _Why am I doing this,_ and _Who am I doing this for? _So, anyway, I just didn't know where to go, and I know that you and I have kind of drifted apart - but you're the only person I knew who lived here in the city."

Monica looks determinedly at the coffee table. "Who wasn't invited to the wedding," she adds for you, and you wince.

"I was kind of hoping that wouldn't be an issue," you mumble while Ross stirs your coffee for you. When you've drained your cup (not without spilling a little decaf coffee on your wedding dress, due to your shaking fingers), they all surround you like five bodyguards and lead you out onto the sidewalk again. The one in the leather jacket - you think he's Joey - glares menacingly at anyone who starts to laugh at your fashion choices for a rainy day in New York, and Monica talks brightly about something you aren't really paying attention to. They lead you up to a door marked with a brass _20_ and Monica lets you use her phone while the rest of them sit down and turn on the television, switching it to some show that you can't even understand because they aren't speaking English and besides, your father's answering the phone now.

"Hi. It's me."

"God, Rachel, where the hell did you run off to?" he snaps, without even saying hello, which is kind of rude. Leonard Green has always been this way, really; he reaches his breaking point easily and now he's yelling at you and you have to hold Monica's phone a few inches away from your ear so it hurts less. "Do you realize that I waited outside that bathroom for you for _twenty-five minutes_ before I had to find someone with a key? And you weren't even in there! Barry looked like a fool, standing up there at the altar, and you'd run off without saying anything to _anyone,_ and your mother and I are losing face. What am I supposed to tell everyone?"

You reach the fridge (you didn't even realize you were pacing) and turn around, moving around the kitchen table as your grip tightens around the phone. "Daddy, I can't marry him." He starts to speak again, but you cut him off. "I'm sorry. I just don't love him."

"Why does that even matter?" your father starts. You have to interrupt him again when the next thing that he tries to say begins with something like, "You could do a hell of a lot worse than -"

"Well, it matters to me!" After that, you can't get a word in edgewise for a good minute. When he finally pauses to take a breath, you jump in hurriedly. "Come on, Daddy, listen to me! It's like - it's like, all of my life, everyone has always told me, you're a shoe! You're a shoe, you're a shoe, you're a shoe! And then, today, I just stopped and I said - what if I don't want to be a shoe? What if I want to be a purse? You know? Or - or a hat?"

"You want me to buy you a hat?" your father asks slowly.

"No, I don't want you to buy me a hat!" It comes out _incredulous,_ which is a big word. "I'm saying that I _am _a - it's a _metaphor,_ Daddy!"

You give an exasperated sigh and Ross leans forward from beside the refrigerator, frowning. "You can see where he had trouble," he tells you carefully, and when you just look at him, unamused, he heads for the couch, nodding to himself.

"Look, Daddy, it's my life," you say, turning slightly away from the five faces now staring at you from the direction of the living room. Your father spouts some more unintelligible arguments and all you really pick up from it is that you're not supposed to go back home. "Well, maybe I'll just stay here with Monica." He starts yelling again, and you think it's sort of an accomplishment that you don't feel the need to hold the phone a foot away from your ear again. "Well, maybe that's my decision."

The next thing that he says is that he's cutting you off financially, which are four words that you've always been afraid of. But there's some kind of adrenaline rushing through your veins and what comes flying from your lips is, "Well, maybe I don't need your money!"

"Fine, Rachel." And with that, he hangs up.

Your heart skips a beat. "Wait! Wait! I said maybe!" All that you can hear is the dial tone and it sounds a lot like loneliness, which is a metaphor, too. Or is it a simile? Or maybe it's personification of some kind. You can't really remember; it's been seven years since you barely scraped through an English class.

Half an hour later, Monica's sitting on her coffee table, urging you to breathe evenly into a paper bag and think of _nice, calm things. _Phoebe starts singing - something about roses and kittens and sleigh bells and noodles - and you turn to look at her with narrowed eyes. You force a smile and lower the paper bag. "I'm all better now," you lie, and thankfully, she turns away, looking pleased with herself.

"Okay, look," says Monica, brushing your hair away from your eyes. "This is probably for the best, you know? Independence. Taking control of your life. The whole hat thing."

"And hey - you need anything," says Joey, sitting down on the back of the couch. "You can _always_ come to Joey." He places a hand on your shoulder and all you can really do is stare at it. Joey gestures towards the door with his sandwich. "Me and Chandler live right across the hall, and he's away a lot." He winks, and you just keep staring at him, trying to decide if he's joking or not.

Monica groans. "_Joey! _Stop hitting on her, it's her _wedding day."_

He takes his hand off your shoulder and frowns at Monica as he stands up. "What, like there's a rule or something?"

Before Monica can answer, before you can stare at Joey again, the buzzer goes off and then everyone's in a flurry of movement and exclamations because Monica has a date with some guy who has something to do with wine. The way that they all say his name sounds like the capitalize everything, just for fun - _Paul the Wine Guy._ Monica asks you if you want her to stay with you in a way that just _screams_ that she wants you to say she can go on her date, and you don't think you're really lying when you say that you'll be fine. Ross almost makes her stay - you heard Chandler talking to him earlier about some woman named Carol and someone else named Sarah or Sandy or something else that starts with an _S,_ and you think there's something going on with that, but you don't want to ask.

While Monica gets changed, Paul the Wine Guy takes a seat on the couch and eyes your wedding dress speculatively. You sit at the kitchen table and you don't realize that Ross is still in the kitchen until he speaks up. "So, Rachel, what are you up to tonight?"

"Well," you say slowly, "I was kind of supposed to be headed for Aruba on my honeymoon, so nothing!"

Ross puts a hand to his head and when he answers, he sounds like he's choking back tears. "Right, right, you're not even getting a honeymoon. No - no, although... Aruba. This time of year? Uh, talk about your... big lizards..." You don't really see what big lizards have to do with the time of year, but you don't say anything. "Anyway, if you don't feel like being alone tonight, Joey and Chandler are coming over to help me put together my new furniture."

"Yes, and we're very excited about it," adds Chandler, and Joey nods.

"Well, actually, thanks, but I think I'm just going to hang out here tonight," you answer, standing up and start for the bathroom, where Monica has told you four times that she's laid out some of her clothes for you to change into. Monica leaves with Paul the Wine Guy, and Phoebe pulls a guitar out of nowhere and disappears a few minutes after that. The guys all leave at once, Ross asking you twice if you'll be okay in the apartment alone, and you make a dash for the phone the second the door clicks shut behind them. You leave Barry six messages, trying your hardest to explain yourself, but you don't know how much of your extremely profound realization gets through to his answering machine.

You're in the guest room that Monica showed you earlier before she gets home from her date, curled up with your wedding veil stretched over your pillow.

When you wake up in the morning, the veil has left a very fine imprint across your cheek. Chandler and Joey come in, unannounced, when the coffee pot is almost full. You don't really know how to make coffee - you've never done it before - so you've kind of guessed at every step. You watched the cook do it enough times that you think you've gotten it all right, and Chandler and Joey say it's good. It doesn't taste like the coffee that Anna makes, but maybe it's Monica's coffee maker.

Paul the Wine Guy comes out of Monica's bedroom and you all watch while she says goodbye to him out in the hallway. "All right, kids," announces Chandler when Paul the Wine Guy is gone, "I've got to get to work. If I don't input those numbers, it... doesn't make much of a difference."

"So, like, you guys all have jobs?" you ask, frowning.

They look at you like they don't understand what you've just said. "Yeah, we all have jobs," says Monica, as though it's obvious. "See, that's how we... _buy_ stuff."

"Yeah, I'm an actor," says Joey airily.

You look at him with renewed respect. "Wow! Would I have seen you in anything?" He avoids the question, and Monica and Chandler seem to view this as an opportunity to make fun of him and quote _Pinnochio._

Monica looks up at you, seeming a little bit too cautious, as you sit down once Joey and Chandler have left the aparment. "So, how are you doing today? You sleep okay? Did you talk to Barry? _I can't stop smiling!"_

You nod. "I can see that - you look like you slept with a hanger in your mouth." You listen to her talk about Paul the Wine Guy for a few minutes and focus on that instead of the fact that Barry's probably listening to your messages right now. "Oh! Wish me luck!" you tell her as she heads for the door. "I'm going to go get one of those job things!"

* * *

You don't get a job.

Instead, you go shopping, and when you rush into the coffee shop carrying shopping bags, everyone looks sombre. "Guess what?" you say excitedly, hoping to lighten the mood a little. Ross guesses that you landed a job somewhere; you laugh airily and answer, "Are you kidding? I'm trained for nothing! I was laughed out of twelve interviews today!"

"And yet," says Chandler, "you're surprisingly upbeat..." You show him your brand-new Joan & David boots. They're your boots that say, _I don't need a job, I don't need my parents, I've got great boots!_ boots, and they're beautiful.

"How'd you pay for them?" asks Monica smugly, though she and Phoebe are both eying your new boots like they might make a grab for them at any second.

You put the boots away carefully. "A credit card."

"And who pays for that?"

Avoiding everyone's eyes like your life depends on it, you place the lid over your new boots. "Uh, my..." You trail off and add the last word more quietly. "My father."

After dinner, Ross and Monica lay out all your credit cards and everything your father pays for on the kitchen table with a pair of orange-handled scissors. Everyone gathers around the table like it's some kind of exciting ceremony, like people used to watch witches being burned at the stake however many years ago, because this is _that_ deadly.

"Come on, give her a break, it's hard being on your own for the first time," says Phoebe animatedly. She seems to do everything animatedly, as far as you can tell. "I remember when I first came to this city," she says, like she's telling a story at a kid's birthday party. "I was fourteen. My mom had just killed herself and my stepdad was back in prison, and I got here, and I didn't know _anybody._ I ended up living with this albino guy who was, like, cleaning windshields outside port authority, and then _he_ killed himself. And _then_ I found aromatherapy. So believe me, I know _exactly_ how you feel."

You stare at her, stunned, with wide eyes as she stands up and crosses to the sink. Ross takes her seat. "The word you're looking for is, _anyway..._" He picks up the first card and Monica hands you the scissors, and they all start some kind of weird chant to encourage you - _cut, cut, cut, cut_ - and Ross even tells you that if you made coffee this morning, you can do anything.

As the first card falls in two jagged pieces onto the wooden surface of the kitchen table, you smile. "You know what? I think we can just leave it at that," you try, resisting the urge to throw the scissors down. That would leave them up for grabs, and someone else could cut up the rest of your lifeline to your old life _for_ you. "Kind of like a symbolic gesture."

"Rachel," says Monica sternly, fingers closing around your wrist. "That was a library card."

_Cut, cut, cut, cut, cut..._ Ross hands you each card in turn and with four more sharp, metallic _snips,_ the table is covered in pieces of plastic. They all cheer for you and Monica hugs you, carefully avoiding the scissors in your hands. "Welcome to the real world! It sucks. You're going to love it."

Ross stays in the living room until even Monica has gone to bed and you're sitting in the armchair, fighting to keep your eyes open. He splits the last cookie with you, which is nice.

"You know, you probably didn't know this," he says as you procrastinate eating your half of the cookie. "But back in high school, I had a major crush on you."

You look at him carefully, trying to decide whether or not he actually thinks that you didn't notice. Eventually, you opt for answering, "I knew."

Ross nods awkwardly. "You did. Wow. I just figured you always thought I was Monica's geeky older brother."

Frowning slightly, you picture the Ross from your senior year of high school, the one with the curly hair and the horrible facial hair. "I did."

He looks disappointed, and you can't help but feel a little bad, but it doesn't seem to have dented his ego all that much, because the next thing he says is, "Listen, do you think - and try not to let my intense vulnerability become any kind of a factor here - but do you think it would be okay if I asked you out, sometime, maybe?"

Seven years ago, you would have laughed. Because, really, the thought of Ross Geller, of all people, asking _you_ out - it seems pretty laughable. Now, though, you nod. "Yeah." You put down your uneaten half of the cookie and shoot him a tiny smile. "Maybe."

Ross examines his cookie. "Okay." He leans back, crossing one leg over the other, gaze still locked on the cookie, like he thinks that's equivalent to looking at you. "Okay, maybe I will."

You stand up and pull the edges of Monica's sweater closer together. You're going to go and get your things from your parents' house tomorrow - they'll be out on their weekly date because Monday has always been date night, and you should be able to get in and out of the house fairly easily, as long as they haven't changed the locks.

"Good night."

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE #2 | **_Well, there's the first piece of my first ever Friends story! I've noticed that most of the Rachel-centered stories haven't really been updated recently. Anyways, tell me what you guys think, and if I should continue! (_


	2. girl with the broken smile

**AUTHOR'S NOTE | **_Yeah, so it's been longer than I said/thought it would be. I'm sorry! I've been so busy. I don't have school or anything - I graduated in June but I'm not going to university right now, since I have no idea what to do with my life - but I've got two jobs, so that's hectic. Anyways. Here's chapter two!_

* * *

**THE ONE WITH THE SONOGRAM AT THE END**

You do get a job, after all; it's in the coffee shop and Gunther, the owner or manager or whatever he really is, you can't tell, seems really nice. He shows you how to make coffee and doesn't get mad at you when you drop a mug. Or three mugs. In two days. He tells off Cynthia for giving someone a blueberry muffin instead of chocolate chip, but when you drag over a bar stool to the couch and sit with Monica and the others for at least twenty minutes every day, he doesn't even bat an eye.

It's _nice._

"See," says Monica one day, maybe a week or two after the day that was supposed to be your wedding, "you guys don't understand that for us, kissing is as important as any part of it."

You nod, but Joey laughs. "Yeah, right!" He's chuckles to himself for a moment, then meets Monica's eyes across the coffee table and glances at you and Phoebe. "You serious?" he asks incredulously.

Phoebe makes an agreeable sound and you swivel back and forth on your bar stool. "Everything you need to know is in that first kiss," you tell Joey importantly.

"No, I think for us, kissing is pretty much an opening act," explains Chandler. "It's like the stand-up comedian you have to sit through before" - he makes a dramatic pause - "_Pink Floyd_ comes out."

You all stare at him, deadpan, and Ross continues where Chandler left off. "Yeah. And it's not that we don't _like_ the comedian, it's just that - that's, that's not we bought the ticket."

Monica laughs, but Phoebe seems unimpressed. For your part, you raise an eyebrow at Ross while Chandler continues. "See, the problem is, though, after the concert's over - no matter _how_ great the show was - girls are always looking for the comedian again. You know? I mean, we're in the car, fighting traffic, basically just trying to stay awake."

Now it's his turn to be on the receiving end of your raised eyebrow. "Yeah. Well, word of advice," you tell him airily, "bring back the comedian. Otherwise, next time, you're going to find yourself sitting at home, listening to that album _alone."_ Monica gives you a high five for your extended metaphor and Joey is confused, which you've discovered is a normal sort of thing for him.

It seems like a chaotic sort of day. While you're at work, Monica prepares the apartment in what Phoebe tells you confidentially is a _twirly_ way, practically hyperventilating on account of the fact that her parents are coming to visit. When you get back upstairs during your break, you're busy tearing your room apart, looking for your engagement ring from Barry, and by the time you find out that Ugly Naked Guy in the apartment across the street gets exercise equipment, he's not even using it anymore!

You're going to give the ring back to Barry tomorrow. Or, at least, you _were_ going to, but if you can't even find it, that sort of puts a stop to the whole mission, doesn't it? You look between the couch cushions and under the coffee table and Monica watches you, displeased, from the kitchen, where she's scrubbing the counters for a fourth time. Then you look between the couch cushions again and Monica seems to forget about her parents' looming visit for long enough to tell everyone else to spread out across the apartment and help you. It's a nice gesture, really, and you appreciate it - or you will, once the ring is safely tucked away somewhere it can't disappear from.

"I know I had it this morning," you say, trying to trace back your steps. "And I know I had it when I was in the kitchen with -" But then you cut off, because your gaze has just landed on Monica's lasagne. "_Oh,"_ you mumble, drawing it out into what must account for several _O'_s and maybe a couple of extra _H'_s, too. "Don't be mad." You address the lasagne because you can already feel Monica's eyes narrowing in on you. "Oh, I'm _sorry."_

"I gave you _one job!"_ exclaims Monica, snatching the lasagne away from you and holding it up to the light because _obviously, _lasagnes are transparent and she'll be able to see the ring through the layers of cheese.

You smile hopefully. "But look how straight those noodles are!"

"Monica," tries Chandler, "you _know_ that's not how you look for an engagement ring in a lasagne." He, Joey and Phoebe begin to paw at the top layers with their bare hands; you watch nervously over Chandler's shoulders. Phoebe finds the ring just as you hear Ross tell Monica from the doorway that Carol's pregnant.

It's _definitely_ a chaotic day.

"Well, how do you fit into this whole thing?" You twist your hands nervously in front of you while you ask it, trying not to get too much lasagne on your hands from Barry's ring.

Ross doesn't exactly look at you as he answers. Instead, he fixates on the television across the room, sounding frighteningly calm about the whole situation. You think it's the shock. "Carol says she and Susan want me to be involved, but if I'm not comfortable with it, I don't _have_ to be involved." Monica guides him to the couch, one hand on his elbow and the other on his back. "Basically, it's totally up to me."

"She is _so_ great!" announces Phoebe in her usual insensitive, tactless way. "I miss her." Everyone pauses just to stare at her in a horrified, anxious, angry sort of trance.

Monica's always been good at changing the subject, even since the two of you were kids. "Well, what does she mean by _involved?"_ she asks, helping her brother sink down onto the couch cushions.

"They want me to go down to this sonogram thing tomorrow," explains Ross, staring at the coffee table with apparent interest. "Yeah, remember back when life was simpler and she was _just_ a lesbian?"

"Ah, those were the days," sighs Chandler from the armrest of your chair.

You play absentmindedly with your necklace and try not to forget, in the back of your mind, that your engagement ring is sitting on the table next to the mangled lasagne. "So what are you going to do?"

Ross lifts his gaze to the purple wall in the corner, near your bedroom door. "I have no idea. No matter what I do, though, I'm still going to... be a father."

It's strange, to think that all of you are only in your mid-twenties - nobody has a boyfriend or a girlfriend, not since Monica found out about Paul the Wine Guy, and you're supposed to be married but instead you're returning your ex-fiancé's ring tomorrow, and Ross is already divorced but now he's going to have a _baby._ Life is moving so fast and you don't know if you can keep up with it - and besides that, you're on your own, in a way, for the first time in your _life,_ and your own parents don't seem to want anything to do with you since that disastrous phone call with your father. You've done the dramatic and actually _cut up_ all of your old credit cards, and you're suddenly working in a coffee house and making your own money and everything is scary and so _uncertain._

Monica kicks everyone except for Ross out before her parents arrive. Everyone spends their evenings either eating spaghetti with their family or watching terrible TV in Joey and Chandler's apartment; you, meanwhile, race back down to Central Perk when you realize that your break is _long _over and thankfully, Gunther doesn't get mad at you. When Mr and Mrs Geller have left, Monica drags everybody down to the coffee house and while you clean tables and prepare to close up the place, she lays diagonally across two-thirds of the couch and gives you all a play-by-play on the evening. Gunther's gone home already, so you don't have to pretend to get mad at Joey for sitting on the counter with his feet on the bar stools, and there's not even anyone else in there because you may have already flipped the sign on the door to say that the coffee house is _closed,_ even though you technically have another twenty minutes.

You kick everyone out once the conversation seems to have drawn to a close. Ross is in the bathroom, which you've kind of conveniently forgotten, and when he returns, he kindly offers to help, so you hand him the broom you're holding and sit down.

"Anyway," says Ross, starting to sweep next to the coffee table. "Uh. So, you, uh, nervous about Barry tomorrow?"

"Uh, a little," you say. Really, you're just trying not to think about it. But now, it's like Ross has opened up the floodgates or something, and you can't think about anything else. "A lot," you admit. "You got any advice? You know, as someone who's recently been dumped?"

Ross gives one of those little nervous laughs that you half-remember from high school. "Well, you may want to steer clear of the word _dumped,_" he suggests. "Uh. Chances are he's going to be this, uh, broken shell of a man. You know, so try not to look too terrific. You know, it'll be hard." He's hardly even sweeping now, but you think he's probably doing a better job than you would have, so you decide against saying anything about it. "Or, you know, I'll go down there and I'll give Barry back his ring, and you can go with Carol and Susan to the OB/GYN."

"Oh, you've got Carol tomorrow... When did it get so complicated?" You don't really expect an answer, but Ross mumbles something in agreement that you hardly hear, it's so quiet. "Remember when we were in high school together? I mean, didn't you think you were just going to meet someone, fall in love, and that'd be it?" You lean back against the couch cushions, waiting for an answer. "Ross?"

You hear a rustle from behind you as he starts and stutters out, "Oh! Yeah. Yes."

Shaking your head in disbelief, you lean your head back and close your eyes. "I never thought I'd be here."

Ross has his hand resting in a very convenient place and you lean on it, using it as a pillow. "Me neither," he says, but you don't think he's really talking to _you, _exactly. You stay like that, quiet, until you realize that it's past ten o'clock and you're allowed to clock out and go home now.

* * *

The next morning, you procrastinate for as long as possible and it's nearly lunch time when you finally make it to Barry's office. His secretary recognizes you and points you in the right direction, looking after you hopefully. You think that she's praying that you're here to ask him to take you back, and you check twice to make sure that the ring is still safe in the pocket on the outside of your purse before you open the door. "Barry?"

"Come on in!"

He doesn't _sound_ like a broken shell of a man. You open the door a little farther and edge cautiously into the room. He's checking on a teenage boy's teeth, but when you shut the door behind you, he swivels away and stands up. "So, how are you doing?"

The way he says it, anyone would think that _he_ was the one to leave _ you._

"I'm," you try. "I'm okay." You give him a smile. Maybe you kind of _want_ him to be a broken shell of a man, because it seems like he doesn't really care what happened between you, and you were supposed to be _married. _"You look great," you tell him, and it's not really a lie.

Barry gets called away by the intercom and you're left with the teenager lying in the dentist's chair. The kid stares at you through his too-round glasses, eyebrows raised interestedly. You somewhat awkwardly fix your hair and point in the general direction of the door. "_I_ dumped _him."_ He doesn't seem to care, and you frown unhappily to yourself while he watches. Barry's completely _fine,_ not a _broken shell_ like Ross said he would be. Maybe Ross is the exception to the rule and the whole broken shell thing is only for one out of every hundred thousand guys who get divorced or dumped or left at the altar. Really, shouldn't Barry be a little more upset? And here you are, and you've gone to all this work not to look to terrific, like Ross told you to, wearing overalls and throwing your hair up messily in a simple clip, and Barry's just grinning away and doing completely _fine._

Hasn't this ruined his plans for the next twenty years?

You take your hair down and brush it out as well as you can with your fingers. You lean across the kid in the dentist's chair and try to apply lip gloss using the mirror on Barry's light, and the kid doesn't look all that disturbed _or_ impressed by a twenty-five-year-old leaning over him. What's wrong with him, anyway?

Barry bursts back into the room and sits down on his little wheeled stool. "So, what have you been up to?" he asks, still in that chirpy sort of I-was-left-at-the-altar-and-I'm-totally-fine way.

You run your fingers through your hair again, trying to make it look sort of messy in a _pretty_ way. "Oh, not much," you tell him airily. "I, uh, got a job."

"That's great," he says with a bright smile, showing all his teeth. He brushes past you to get some fancy tools off the table and doesn't even flinch at the way that his elbow actually _makes contact_ with yours.

"Why are you so tanned?" you ask his back.

He freezes for a moment, his back still to you as he searches for the right tool, and then admits carefully, "I went to Aruba." He says it like he thinks you might be mad, and it takes you a moment to remember the fact that your _honeymoon_ was supposed to be in Aruba.

Your heart thumps loudly. "Oh, no - you went on our honeymoon alone?"

It seems kind of depressing, but the first thing Barry does is deny it. "No." He crosses back to the kid who you don't think has hit puberty yet and adds, "I went with, uh... Now, this may hurt." You frown, swiveling slowly to face Barry instead of the wall. "I went with Mindy."

At this, your stomach twists painfully. It feels kind of like you imagine a dish cloth might feel after Monica finishes washing the dishes and wrings it out, all wrapped tightly around itself, all the life being forced out of it. "Mindy?" you repeat in a shocked sort of whisper. "My _maid of honour_, Mindy?"

Barry shrugs. "Yeah. We're, uh, kind of a thing now." He says it so nonchalantly. He doesn't seem to be worried about you getting angry anymore. Shouldn't he say that he's dating the girl who was supposed to be your maid of honour in a more cautious way than he said that he went on your honeymoon?

"Oh," you exclaim. It kind of hurts to smile like this doesn't matter to you. It _shouldn't_ matter to you. You ran away from your wedding and your ex-fiancé is doing fine without you, and you're doing fine without him, so everyone should be happy, right? "Well. You got _plugs!"_ you announce, shocked, and pull his face down to examine his hairline. Barry carefully removes his face from your grip. "And you got lenses," you say, and you're not even pretending to smile anymore. Your ex-fiancé is doing _better_ without you. He's doing _better_ with your ex-best friend. That's not the way that anything is supposed to work in real life, is it? "But you hate sticking your finger in your eye."

Barry smiles to himself. "Not for her."

He would never have gotten lenses for you. That kind of stings a little, too. You don't love him, you swear you don't - but the man you were supposed to marry isn't supposed to fall in love, at least not so _quickly,_ and especially not with Mindy, of all people. Isn't there some kind of code against that? Mindy was your best friend, until she started ignoring your phone calls when you tried to call her four times after settling in at Monica's apartment, and now she's dating your ex. You think there's some sort of taboo on that.

You turn slowly to face the wall again because the wall isn't doing better without you. "Listen," says Barry from your shoulder, "I really wanted to thank you."

_Thank_ you?

"Okay." You try to sound cheerful, turning back to face him in a much more composed manner.

"See, about a month ago, I wanted to hurt you more than I've ever wanted to hurt anyone in my life," he explains. Well, at least he _did_ want to hurt you for running out on him. At least he isn't _that_ insensitive. "And I'm an orthodontist. You know, you were right. I thought we were happy, but we weren't happy. But with Mindy, _now_ I'm happy."

You look down at your feet. Stuttering a little, you slip the engagement ring out from your purse and hold it out to him. The whole thing isn't nearly as dramatic as you'd half-hoped it would be, and you leave the dentist's office feeling a little - okay, a lot - dejected.

At least Ross seems to have had a better day than you. It's kind of funny, isn't it? You went to see Barry expecting to be happy about it and came back depressed, and Ross went to the OB/GYN with his ex-wife expecting to be depressed and came back happy. He brings back a recording of the ultrasound and excitedly puts it into Monica's VCR, and you all crowd around the TV to watch.

You call Mindy again and this time she picks up. Maybe it's because she knows that you know about her and Barry now. "Hi, Mindy. Hi! It's Rachel!"

"Oh, hey," she says absentmindedly from the other end of the line. "How are you? Are you okay with everything?" She's talking too loud and you think she's chewing gum about half a millimeter away from the mouthpiece.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you tell her confidently. You're pacing back and forth and hardly paying attention to Carol's ultrasound on the television screen, heart beating irregularly in your chest, which you think is unhealthy, but you're too busy concentrating on the words you've been scribbling down over and over on the notepad next to the phone for the last hour. "I saw Barry today."

Mindy pauses and asks carefully, "Did he tell you about..." She sounds so worried as she trails off, and the chewing sounds stop.

You nod, even though she can't see you. "Oh, yeah, he told me." She starts to talk quickly, but you cut her off. "No, no, it's okay. Really. It's okay. I hope you two are very happy, I really do. Oh, and Min - you know - if everything works out, and you guys end up getting married and having kids and everything, I just hope they have _his old hairline and your old nose."_

And with that, as everyone else watches - Joey, Chandler and Phoebe with idiotic grins stretching across their faces - you hang up before Mindy can answer. Monica and Ross don't look as impressed as the others, and you sit down on the couch, feeling pleased with yourself. "Okay, that was a cheap shot, but I feel _so_ much better now!"

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE #2 | **_I swear I'll try to take less time with the next chapter. That was almost a month for this one, and that was just because I was busy and when I wasn't, I kept deciding I wasn't in the mood to write. I'll be more focused for chapter three. I hope. Please review!_


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